Cassian rubbed his eyes in disbelief, hoping when he looked again the sky would turn back to being normal. But no matter how long he rubbed his eyes, the sky wouldn't change.
There was the familiar sun shining brightly, and next to it, a second silver sun almost half the size of the yellow one. The sight was bizarre and felt alien. It didn't feel right.
The atmosphere also felt weird. If Cassian was to describe it, the one word he would use would be heavier.
He looked back and saw the building he was in was an old American church, like the ones in small rural towns. That gave him a feeling of familiarity, but also a weird feeling, like the church didn't belong here. Further in the distance, he saw what looked like buildings—houses, to be exact.
It appeared that Cassian was at the edge of a town, which gave him hope. Hope that someone could answer the questions burning in his mind.
He walked toward the town in the distance. It wasn't far, but it would take at least a couple of minutes to reach it. He followed the stone path that was barely visible due to a thick carpet of moss that had grown over it, swallowing the stone. Cassian could only make out a faint winding line of lumpy green, with just a few dark, wet edges of stone peeking through here and there.
Slowly, Cassian reached the town's entrance. At first look, the town was a place of quiet decay. Cassian stood on what looked like the town's main street: a wide path now filled with growing weeds. The buildings were simple wood-frame structures, their once-bright boards now black with rot, slowly destroying them.
"HELLO. ANYONE HERE?" Cassian yelled, hoping for an answer but receiving none.
He walked further in and found what looked to be a general store, its front tilting ominously, its windows boarded up. He opened the door with great difficulty and a lot of kicks, breaking the rotten wood holding it closed from within.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old wood and dust. Light cut through the cracks in the boarded windows, illuminating the store suspended in time. A long polished counter ran the length of the room, its surface gray with a layer of dust. Behind it, shelves rose to the ceiling, still filled with merchandise: glass jars, tin cans, their colors and contents destroyed by the passage of time. A cast-iron stove sat cold in the corner, a pile of dusty kindling still in its belly. A single wooden chair lay toppled on its side. On the counter, next to a rusted cash register with its drawer still open, was a leather-bound ledger, its pages brittle and yellow, filled with elegant fading script of debts and credits that would never be settled.
Cassian walked behind the counter, his hand brushing along the dust of the countertop, his boots disturbing the silent dust into lazy swirling clouds. There, tucked beneath the register on the counter, he saw a dark shape with a handle made of wood. He pulled it out, and in his hands was now a Bowie knife still tucked in its leather sheath. He drew the blade; it came free with a gritty whisper, revealing sharp, darkened steel with a brutal clip point. The blade felt lethal and cold—the only thing in this forsaken store that hadn't softened with time. He sheathed the blade and tucked it in his pants, continuing to look around for clues and anything that could prove useful, like the Bowie knife. But luck was not on his side.
He walked to the back of the general store where light didn't reach. Luckily, he had a bad habit of smoking. He pulled out his lighter and lit it, illuminating the dark, cold room. The first thing to grab his attention was a black spot in the corner. It looked like grease, but as Cassian stepped closer to investigate, its horrendous smell assaulted his nostrils, making him gag and quickly back off.
"What the fuck," Cassian questioned out loud.
Feeling disgusted, Cassian walked out of the general store back to the main street, yet the smell still lingered as if it had chased him out.
Moving on, Cassian found himself standing in front of what looked to be a bar—or, based on its architecture, a saloon. It was a simple wooden building with a false front making it look bigger than it actually was. There was also a hitching post that stretched across the front for horses. He moved to the entrance: a set of waist-high swinging wooden doors that allowed fresh air to enter and the sound of people having fun to exit, in hopes of attracting more customers. Above hung a sign, probably with the saloon's name, now lost in time.
Before he stepped in, Cassian was assaulted by the same disgusting odor coming from the black, grease-like spot he'd found in the general store's back room. The stench was so strong it made his eyes water as he stepped back with hurried steps.
"What the hell," was all Cassian could say while coughing his lungs out.
Cassian looked back at the saloon's entrance with a mix of curiosity and unease written in his eyes. Eventually, his curiosity won as he lifted both his shirt and jacket over his nose and slowly crept back up to the entrance with the lighter in his hand.
A dangerous thought crossed his mind: What if whatever that smell was, was flammable? What if the moment he lit his lighter, he was met with an explosion? That was when he remembered something that made him wonder how he even forgot about it: his cellphone.
He reached into his jacket pocket, grabbing it, but to his disappointment, the phone was dead—bringing him back to where he was. He pondered on it and came to the realization that if that foul smell was flammable, then he would still be in the general store, slowly burning.
He moved closer to the entrance, each step harder to take than the previous one. Cassian was familiar with this feeling: it was fear, genuine fear—the feeling that helped humanity survive throughout the ages.
When he reached the wooden doors, his legs felt as if they were filled with concrete. And even though he covered his face, the smell still assaulted him—at least now he could bear it, for a couple more seconds. Luckily, he didn't need the lighter, as the sun's rays entering the saloon were more than enough for him to see the same black substance covering the entirety of the saloon's floor.